


Walk Away

by Snow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-25
Updated: 2009-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow/pseuds/Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So apparently pirate ships usually got their doctors by kidnapping them.  Once they had the doctor they would offer him the chance to sign articles, but most of them said no.  Then the pirates would make a deal where they allowed the doctor to live in exchange for the doctor doing doctor things.  I'm not making this up.  This is Julian Bashir's story. (That part I am making up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Alternate Universe fic challenge, fulfilling the prompt of Pirates. Because who doesn't love pirates?

The patient stifled a moan as his arm shifted, then appeared, to all intents and purposes, to collapse again into unconsciousness. Julian was fooled for a moment, until he noticed the body of the patient was staying a little too still, rather than rocking back and forth with the waves, like everything else on this bloody boat.

"If you were awake I could offer you laudanum," Julian promised, pleased to see his patient's eyes flutter open.

"No," he said.

Julian carefully rolled up the sleeves of his jacket, found an empty glass cup and filled it again with the contents of a bottle, before pausing to regard the man lying in the hammock. "Wait, what?"

"Don't give me opium," the patient insisted.

"I would help with the pain."

"I know what laudanum is, _Doctor_."

Julian grimaced at the patient's tone of patronization. He really didn't need to that kind of response from prisoners. (He already got it from everyone else.)

"Now, if you don't mind," the patient continued, "I think I'll pass out again."

Julian sighed and waited until he thought the patient had lost consciousness. Then he shook the man, lightly at first, then more vigorously. When he still didn't wake, Julian dumped the alcohol and opium mixture on the man's wounded arm. He was half-way through stitching up the wound, thankful that the patient had not regained consciousness while he worked, when there was a knock at his door. "I'll see him as soon as I finish," Julian called out.

The grunt from the other side might have been a question or a mark of disapproval.

Julian finished the stitches without responding and poured a little more of the laudanum mixture over the wound before wrapping the prisoner's arm. He rinsed his hands and carefully rolled the sleeves of his jacket down. As he brushed past the deckhand he could smell the alcohol and vomit on the man's breath. "Keep an eye on him," Julian said.

* * *

 

It didn't take very long from when the deckhand came to fetch him until Julian was standing in front of Captain Dukat, but the man still scowled at Julian when he appeared. "The prisoner awake?" he shouted as Julian approached, easily making himself heard over the rush of the waves.

"Oh, he's a prisoner, is he?" Julian asked, stepping closer so he didn't have to speak any louder than he usually did. "What a pity no one thought to tell me they were sticking a dangerous man in my sick bay. All I knew was that his arm was half-way cut off. Your doing, I presume?"

Dukat shrugged, and Julian reminded himself that, tempting as it was to say exactly what he thought, he needed to hold his tongue, if only to avoid being thrown overboard. "Did he give you his name?" the Captain asked.

All the careful considerations about keeping polite (and alive) vanished from Julian's mind, replaced by anger, but Julian didn't feel himself to be in much actual danger. "No he didn't _give me his name_," Julian retorted. "Just because we've been kidnapped by the same pirates doesn't mean that I have any kind of connection with him, or that he'd trust me, even if he had been conscious for more than thirty seconds, which he wasn't."

"Find it out."

Julian buried his head in his hands for a second or two before he looked up into Dukat's good eye and nodded. "I _can_ just about guarantee he's not Royal Navy. He might be Spanish."

"Let me know anything else you learn."

"Yes sir." Julian turned and quickly returned below decks to the sick bay to see if his patient was awake. He hoped for the man's sake that he wasn't.

* * *

 

The deckhand Julian had left behind had apparently gotten bored and left, and the patient had rolled out of the hammock and was crouched behind a table. Julian sighed. "You're on a _boat_," he said carefully. "Where exactly do you expect to go?"

The patient straightened, nothing but dignified, although Julian's own arm throbbed in imagined sympathy. "I was thinking Portugal."

"Portugal?" Julian considered the notion. "I've never been."

"I can't imagine you'd be terribly welcome there." The prisoner (patient) paused, and in a moment Julian realized he was being prodded for his name.

"Dr. Julian Bashir," he said, because unlike the pirates he had every reason to want people to know his full name. Not that Julian was waiting with baited breath for a rescue (but he wouldn't say no to anyone offering one).

"Interesting," the patient said, and Julian wondered what in hell that meant.

"And you are?" he asked, suddenly feeling too worn out to worry about being subtle. Besides, subtle would be to wait for his patient to volunteer his own name, which he clearly had no intent of doing.

The patient smiled, like he thought Julian had just made a particularly amusing joke. "Garak," he said.

"Well, Mr. Garak," Julian started.

"Just Garak," the patient said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

"In either case, _Garak_, it would probably be best if you rested for a while."

"Why bother?" Garak asked him. "Why waste both of ours time having me heal when I'm probably just going to be tossed overboard. If I'm going to die tonight I'd really rather not spend my last day unaware."

"You look like a wealthy man," Julian replied. "So you should be fine."

Garak laughed. "Me? Wealthy? No, I'm just a tailor."

"Just hope it takes the Captain and his men some time to figure that out," Julian answered, not buying that explanation in the least. "Now rest."

* * *

 

Julian bolted shut the sick bay door from the outside. It was all very well to say that there was nowhere to go if a prisoner escaped, but one man intent on havoc could cause quite a lot of it. Julian himself had resisted the urge, but there was something about Garak which made it impossible for Julian to even consider trusting him.

Captain Dukat was still standing where he had been before, but he was talking to a member of the crew. Julian stopped to wait far enough away from them to make it clear that he had no interest in overhearing their conversation. The sea was unbroken and unyielding, and Julian, who had wanted to be a sailor before he had even considered medicine, strained his eyes looking for land he knew he wouldn't find.

"What do you have for me, Doctor?" Dukat sneered, snapping Julian from his reverie.

"His name is Garak. He said he's a tailor, but I think that unlikely. He could well be a spy."

Dukat's eye narrowed. "On a merchant ship this far from civilization?"

Julian shrugged. "Perhaps you should question him yourself."

For a second or two Julian thought Dukat was going to accept, which would probably mess up his sick bay. Then the Captain frowned. "Garak's not that high of a priority," he said. "Just keep him contained."

Julian nodded. Without any injured crew, he didn't have anything else to do, and he wasn't about to complain over this unexpected change of role. It could be Dukat was starting to let his guard down.

* * *

 

Julian paused outside the kitchen when he heard the cook whistling. That meant he was alone: Quark didn't like anyone to know that he _could_ whistle, let alone overhear it. Julian would have advised that Quark might want to whistle a little quieter and be a tiny bit more observant, but that would mean admitting he knew, which would clearly not do. He knocked loudly on the door frame.

The whistling abruptly cut off, in favour of a warm greeting. "Julian! What can I do for you?"

Julian smiled, despite himself. The same thing had brought Quark to the pirate ship as had brought everyone else who wasn't a prisoner, but Julian enjoyed Quark's presence in a way he didn't the others. "Can I beg of you a plate of food for the prisoner I'm keeping in my sick bay?" he asked.

Quark nodded. "Of course. Will you be joining the rest of the crew for the dinner?"

"Me?" Julian ate with the crew only when he had to, because it was hard to make polite conversation when there was a mutual understanding that he'd betray the ship in an instant if he ever got the chance. Eating on his own had become much easier once he became (not exactly, but something close to) friends with the cook. "No."

"Then I'll send someone down with food for you both when it's ready."

"Thank you," Julian said, snagging two limes out of a pile of them. "But you don't need to do anything complex; we'd be fine with salted beef."

"Maybe, but this way you owe me more," Quark said, with a grin.

Julian shrugged, because he ended up giving most of his pay to the cook anyway: he wanted no part of the pirate's booty. "Sounds good to me. Thanks, again."

* * *

 

Garak started laughing as soon as Julian let himself back into the sick bay. "You really _are_ a limey," he explained, before Julian could ask.

Julian glanced at the limes in his hand, then raised an eyebrow at Garak. "What? You had your concerns, but as soon as I showed up with fruit any doubts you had about me being an unwilling prisoner vanished?"

"No," Garak said, "But that speech took care of most of the remaining ones."

In spite of himself, Julian grinned. "Want one? I can pretty much guarantee one lime won't grant you loyalty to the crown."

"You've tried, I take it," Garak said.

Julian started to laugh. "Of course."

"What's a gentleman doing on a pirate ship?" Garak asked, before Julian had a chance to ask a question of his own. "Besides terrorising the occupants of sick bay with limes."

Julian didn't really mean to ignore the question, but it was just so much easier to make a flippant reply than to give an explanation. He grinned. "You think I'd limit myself to sick bay?" he asked.

"And the Captain puts up with this?"

Julian shrugged, somewhat relieved that Garak had agreed to stay on the lighter side of their conversation, but knowing that it wouldn't last. He might not owe Garak an explanation, but he felt like he did. "If he had a problem with me doing it, I'm sure Dukat would have said something."

Julian wasn't watching Garak, so his first sign that the other man had gone stiff was his icy tone. "Dukat?"

"Yeah," Julian said, then asked the obvious because it had to be done. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately."

* * *

 

"You're a spy, aren't you?" Julian asked, because clearly asking about Dukat was out of bounds, but maybe if Julian asked enough questions Garak would eventually answer one.

"A spy?" Garak said, his eyes going comically wide. "Who would I even be a spy _for_?"

"Spain?" Julian proposed, to no reaction from Garak. "Or the French. I presume that if you were working for King George you would let me know, but I don't even know that for sure."

Garak shrugged. "Sorry," he said, flippant.

Julian stared at him, both made uneasy and fascinated by the possibilities of who the other man could possibly be.

"So," started Garak, like what he was saying was going to be a perfectly logical response to what Julian was saying, which was already odd, because Julian was fairly certain he hadn't been saying anything much, "What do you think of trying to take control of the ship?"

"Mutiny?" For once, Julian wasn't concerned about choosing his words carefully: he was concerned with making it clear exactly what he thought of the idea. "What, the two of us?"

"It's not mutiny when we're both prisoners. And unless you know anyone else who would like to help, but I assume the rest of the crew is here by choice, it will be just the two of us."

"How? _Why_?"

"Because I _really_ hate Dukat, and would prefer not to be on the same boat as him for any longer than is absolutely necessary. And because I happen to know I'm _much_ better than him, so this won't even be that hard to do. Now, do you think you could fake an outbreak of smallpox on the ship?"

* * *

 

Julian wasn't sure what would happen if (when) they were caught and stopped. He figured he had high odds of surviving: even if Dukat wasn't comfortable with him on the ship anymore, Julian was still a great doctor, and some other ship would be happy to trade for him. He was, no matter how much he loathed the idea, a valuable commodity, which Julian supposed was a fair sight better than being dead.

Julian wasn't really worried about Garak either; the other man seemed so very sure of himself and his plan.

Having logically eliminated the two major causes for concern, Julian was left at a loss for the cause of the pit in his stomach, the one that felt like it was simultaneously trying to consume him from within and which prevented him from being able to keep any food down. Maybe he was _actually_ coming down with smallpox, he thought with a giggle, before realising that the idea wasn't even remotely amusing.

Garak, now that he had mostly recovered from his wounds, had been removed from sick bay to a holding cell. Julian had visited, several times, theoretically to make sure that Garak's arm was healing properly, but really it was just to plot their mutiny. (Julian insisted on calling it a mutiny no matter how much Garak objected, because he felt that sounded more likely to be successful than a prisoner revolt.)

Garak had assured him that the fact that half of the people involved were locked up actually increased their odds of success. Julian didn't pretend to understand the logic, but he thought Garak's plan had at least a five percent chance of working, and that had to be good enough.

* * *

 

"All you need to do," Garak had said, "Is remove as many of the pirates as you can to quarantine. I'll take care of everything else."

Julian was generally good at what he did, and taking over a pirate ship from within was (apparently) not an exception. There were always ailments at sea, and it wasn't even difficult for Julian to convince the pirates that they would all fall deathly ill unless exactly as he told them. His role accomplished, with over half the pirates taken out of commission, Julian was kept too busy rushing back and forth with fake medications and rum to wonder what Garak was doing.

His first sign that something was horribly wrong was when Julian felt the unmistakable vibration of a musket-ball hitting the ship. Garak hadn't accounted for the (absolutely awful) possibility of another pirate ship attacking: there was no way he could have. Julian figured they'd have to call off the mutiny, because while Garak might be able to subdue or intimidate Dukat into surrendering the ship, there was no way he could do so while engaging in a battle.

"Doctor!" Julian turned to see Garak had appeared below decks and was gesturing him to follow.

Without really thinking about, Julian followed Garak up _toward_ the sounds of the battle. They had almost emerged on the deck of the ship when Julian suddenly stopped. He didn't make a habit of walking into battles unprepared, but Garak seemed very confident and if the ship was actually being boarded there was a high likelihood Julian would end up dead either way.

* * *

 

After his eyes had adjusted to the sunlight, Julian looked about the deck in shock. It was clear almost instantly that Dukat's pirates were losing badly, and that was made clearer by the fact that the opponents were cleaner, better organised, and better swordsmen. They were also Royal Navy to boot, which Julian didn't quite feel he was ready to accept yet. (It was just too much, and if he wasn't half-deaf from the sound of the musket-balls Julian would have wondered if he was even awake.)

Julian started to say something, to demand an explanation from Garak, or to thank him, but Garak spoke first. "The HMS St Mary happened to be passing by," he said.

Julian could have asked so many questions about how that even worked, but he didn't, because right now he wanted the fighting to die down so he could introduce himself to the Captain, step aboard the St Mary, and start to put his life back together.

Before Julian thought it safe enough to cross to the St Mary, her Captain approached him, dressed in the blues and gold trim of an officer. "Captain Benjamin Sisko." Sisko held out his hand, and Julian held out his own to shake it.

"Dr. Julian Bashir," he said. "Formerly of the HMS Dorchester."

"Elim has said we owe our gratitude for the ease of capture to you. As well as that you work for His Majesty as well. So thank you, Doctor."

"Elim?" Julian asked, wondering who that was, and whether or not Garak had known about this. Because having a third person in on their plans would have been nice.

"That's me. Elim is my first name," Garak answered.

* * *

 

Dukat and those men of his who had not been killed in the fight for the ship were hung on Sisko's orders as soon as the Captain had control of the ship. Julian watched the executions, and when the pirates were clearly dead he helped the men of the St Mary cut them down and toss the bodies overboard.

"Captain Sisko wants to see you," Garak told him, when they had finished.

Julian nodded, and walked towards the Captain who still stood where he had during the hanging. "What do you know of the ship's cook?" Sisko asked.

"The cook?" Julian said, suddenly realising that Quark probably wouldn't have been cut down in battle, and he hadn't been among those hung. "His name is Quark," Julian started. He didn't know what angle to approach this from (or what the Captain was thinking). "He was a decent cook, but not great. He's incredibly greedy, but tends to hoard money more than he spends it. He was nicer to me than he had to be."

"Dangerous?"

"No more so than any other pirate. Possibly less."

"Do you think he could be French?" Sisko asked.

"Hmm?" Julian replied. "I guess it's possible."

"Right." Sisko beckoned one of the sailors over and gave the navy man instructions to transfer Quark to the St Mary and to keep him under close guard. "He claims he is," Captain Sisko continued once the sailor had left. "He says he's related to King Louis himself. It's just barely possible."

Julian nodded agreeably. He didn't think Quark's claim was terribly likely, but no one wanted to accidentally execute a bargaining chip.

* * *

 

Stepping foot in London again was like all his dreams coming true. It was like reaching heaven and it was all the proof he needed that God was on Britain's side. It was beautiful. It was home.

"We leave again in five days," Captain Sisko informed the crew, Julian among them. "If you're not on the ship at dawn on Thursday we'll leave without you and you _will_ be charged with desertion."

The crew nodded solemnly, but the mood didn't last any longer than it took them to spot a tavern and head towards it.

Julian split from the sailors as soon as he had a chance, in favour of wandering the streets of London. His legs quickly tired, but Julian continued until he was in a slightly more upscale neighbourhood, where he found dinner and lodging in an establishment that wasn't frequented by whores and drunks.

Dinner was an altogether enjoyable experience, and Julian relished the excellent food and the relaxed atmosphere. (It might have been a waste of his money to eat anywhere but at the taverns, since anything would taste wonderful after so long at sea.)

After his meal was completed, Julian retired to his room with paper and pen, to write a letter to his parents to let them know what had happened and that he was safe. He promised to be home for Christmas (seven months away) and told them he missed them. The letter was five pages long.

When he finished writing it, Julian crumpled up the letter, and instead wrote a two-line note saying he was in London, all was well, and he was to head out again in five days. He really didn't need to give his parents fodder for their argument that joining the Navy was the worst thing he could have done.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome and appreciate all kinds of comments, though I would (obviously) prefer if any criticism was constructive. :)


End file.
